Time and Place
by MontyTheDog
Summary: "We just skipped right to dessert." Post Recovery, K/D


Is this real?

He's still having a hard time distinguishing what's reality and what's fantasy. And this is certainly surreal. But.

He glances at the clock. 8:07. He looks at it again, and it's still 8:07. He counts his fingers, five of which are playing with the hem of her shirt. There are ten.

She's real. This is not some fantastic dreamworld. She's real. She's here. And for the first time since Sidorov, he feels alive.

Who needs a motorcycle when a guy can have _her_ doing _that_?

"Kensi," he moans, lips brushing hers when he mouths her name. They're kissing again in a matter of milliseconds, breath labored as they move in sync. They've made it to his living room and she's already undressed except for her underwear, his top discarded in a pile, her legs wrapped around his waist. Against his better judgement he pulls away an inch, eyes locking with hers. He wants to laugh at the frustration he sees in her dark irises at the broken contact but he doesn't, resting his forehead against hers. "Kens, are you sure?"

She doesn't answer. Not that he expects her to. Because how in the hell can she be sure about something as big as this? Yeah, they both _want_ it. That doesn't necessarily make it the right thing to do.

"I didn't hear a no," he says quietly with a laugh, and he can feel her chest move against his as she silently chuckles, one of her hands grasping at his shoulder blade, her nails on her other hand ghosting over his chest.

"Put me down," she breaths into his ear, and though he complies he feels his heart momentarily drop, much like it did in the restaurant when he had no idea if she was walking away from him or letting him take her to his place. Obviously it turned out to be the latter. Now her hand is extended, and he takes it, letting her lead him to the bedroom.

There's a lot of trembles and a lot of sweating. He smiles a lot, kisses her so many times he loses count, and finally after their second time he pulls away from her, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds. His breath has shortened, heart pumping as he tries to calm down a bit, even though the high he's on is one he could happily stay on forever.

"That was... wow," Deeks says, turning to face her with a huge grin plastered on his face. "Where did you even learn how to do the thing with-"

"Long story," she replies, smiling back at him. It's dazzling, and the dim room seems ten times lighter with her exposed teeth and twinkling eyes illuminating the darkness. "That you're not going to be hearing tonight."

"I'm sure it's a really... hot story. And even if you don't want to get into detail, you know, I wouldn't press or-"

"Deeks."

"Okay, okay." She's laying on her back, him facing her on his side. He throws an arm over her stomach, stroking back pieces of damp hair from her temple. All he wants to do is gawk at her, but instead he presses a lingering and sweet kiss to her lips. He wants it to last forever.

She mirrors his position so that she can return his gaze, hand pushing his hair back and playing with the soft patch of stubble at the nape of his neck. Dark eyes are staring back at his, and he can't get over how happy she looks. And beautiful. Brown waves are caking his pillow, a smile softening her features, comforter covering her torso. He's lucky.

For an amazing moment, he doesn't care about the ramifications. He doesn't care about what will happen when they'll walk into work, or what Hetty will have to say. All that matters is this moment. The past, the future, they are nothing. Nonexistent.

"Are you still starving?" he finally asks. It's the only thing he can think of saying without sounding like a total idiot, and she nods.

"Are you?"

"A little. I had a quick snack a few minutes ago to tide me over." He leans over, lips finding her neck and then working their way up to her ear.

She laughs at the cheesiness of his joke and the tickle of his scruff against her jaw, something she hadn't realized how much she needed to experience until that night. "Deeks."

"What do you want? Dinner a la Casa de Deeks. I know you love it when I cook."

"I never did get my tacos."

"We just skipped right to dessert." He winks, and she rolls her eyes.

"These jokes. They're painful."

"I'll see what I can do about your tacos."

The dinner's delicious and would be even better if he hadn't gotten distracted by her lips against his collarbone, arms having encircled his waist from behind. As if that hadn't been enough, she'd also decided that she would wear his button up around the house. He's pretty sure she left the top few buttons undone just to tease him.

Seriously, who can cook with _her _walking around? And in _his_ shirt? It's a miracle he didn't abandon the stove completely and burn the house down.

But considering he doesn't even have taco shells, only tortilla chips, his variation of a taco salad is pretty damned impressive if he did say so himself. And she seems to like it enough, not even commenting on the fact that it technically isn't a taco.

After they finish eating, he's tired. She can barely keep her eyes open, lashes fluttering as her lids droop before opening again, looking breathtakingly tousled and fatigued with her bedhead and tired smile.

"Sleepy?" he teases as she nearly trips over a rug, and she grins.

"Maybe a little. Like you're not."

"I don't know. I think I could tough it out if you wanted to, you know, recreate any scenes from earlier one more time."

She presses a kiss against his jawline before trailing into his bed, saying, "Maybe in the morning."


End file.
